


Breaking Down the Walls

by Itar94



Series: Building Neutron Stars [14]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: (episode order has been scrambled), Advanced Conception, Aftermath of character death, Alpha Rodney McKay, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Ascension, Building Neutron Stars: The John/Rodney Arc, Canonical Character Death, Dysfunctional family relationships slowly mending, Email Correspondence, Grief, Letter Exchange, M/M, Memory Loss, Mpreg, Omega John Sheppard, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Post Episode: s03e17 Sunday, Post-Ascended Rodney, Protective Ronon, Season/Series 03, Unplanned Pregnancy, alternative universe, characters reuniting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itar94/pseuds/Itar94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s five in the morning when word comes. Whispered first, burning through the corridors. And then Elizabeth is announcing it, voice heavy and dark over the speakers.<br/>John refuses to believe.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(Canonical character death, s03e17 Sunday)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Down the Walls

**Author's Note:**

> _After a long hiatus regarding this series, I've finally picked it up again. Luckily for you guys I've got several drafts already saved, for future chapters and storylines; there are blank spaces to fill, of course, but not_ just _blank spaces. Thank you everyone who has read, commented or left kudos! You've been giving me new inspiration to continue this series. Without you there would be no updates. Thank you!_  
>  Note 2016-03-05: Hey! I'm so so sorry about this massive delay. I'm stuck on this story; literately stuck. _But_ I've written parts and drafts for the next installment in this series, so that's what I'm going to publish. This fic will be put on hold until I figure it out. (Longer explanation in the AN of the next fic.) Again, sorry, and thanks everyone who still has read, left kudos and commented - you've convinced me that this verse isn't dead!

**breaking point** /ˈbreɪ kɪŋ pɔɪnt/  
[noun]  
_the moment when a soul burns out;_  
_when hope is lost; when cities are abandoned_

* * *

After twelve days of existence on another plane, one they cannot ever touch, Rodney returns to them. While he’s resting in the infirmary without any apparent injuries, just _sleeping_ , John lingering at his side, the doctors are busy operating on Carson.

It’s bad. It’s so bad. Rodney must’ve tried shielding him. But one millisecond too late. Or something, someone else interfered - stopped him from interfering, pulling him through the planes of existence down to this one, before the smoke had settled and the fires died.

The surgery goes on for hours. And this is Atlantis, they should be able to fix this, they _have_ to fix ...

* * *

Rodney sleeps. John sits at his bedside unwavering, not letting go of his hand. He’s real - he’s real. Ronon slips in from time to time as well, Marie on his hip; John cares for her like in a dream, like he were in stasis.

The Satedan doesn’t speak much. The air is tense, warm. He murmurs at some point that Teyla made it through surgery well and she’ll will be OK. That things will be all right. That normalcy is imminent. That they’re alive and together again.

Rodney sleeps.

* * *

It’s five in the morning when word comes. Whispered first, burning through the corridors. And then Elizabeth is announcing it, voice heavy and dark over the speakers. John’s guts twist in pain.

He refuses to believe.

* * *

There’s a half-finished email waiting to be sent.

 _Won’t be coming soon,_ it reads, words dark and dripping and choked in his throat, _But in five or six months maybe. Rodney’s back. He was -- gone for a while. complicated._

_There’s been a death._

_I. there’s some -- chaos. can’t explain everything. Classified. Sorry._

He cannot bring himself to reread it, to check for errors, bother with a proper signature: Dave will know who's it from anyway. It hurts to breathe.

* * *

Three hours later, Rodney blinks awake. His eyes are the same as before, bright and clever and curious, and John blinks at him through the haze of grief and shock and joy, the mix threatening to overpower him.

“I’m - I’m back!” The alpha looks down at his physical hands in wonderment. “I’m back! Oh thank god. I’m famished. How long have I been...been ascended? Whoa, that’s so weird, _seriously_ weird. I’ve been ascended, of all things, _ascended._ Never thought _that_ would happen when I signed up for this.”

John’s throat is all tight. He chokes on the words _Too long you fucking idiot_. “’Bout two weeks.” And it seems Rodney doesn’t remember that, doesn’t remember time passing, doesn’t know of his grief and longing and anger. No nurses have come rushing yet to check IVs and John shifts closer, carefully asking, “How’s your memory?”

“Vague. Fuzzy, at some places. I think I must’ve tried ...” And then he stills, looking around. “There was - something I tried. Tried to hinder. That’s why they sent me back, they were rather pissed I think. All that about non-interference, you know. But otherwise my head’s pretty good ... Thankfully. I was afraid _everything_ would be wiped. Sadly I can no longer tell why light behaves both as particles and waves - that ought to have given me a Nobel. God, I’m starving. Hey, where’s Carson? He’s usually around to pester people as soon as they wake up.”

And John looks away, swallowing.

Rodney had tried. He’d _tried,_ even if it seems he has no memory of it now. (Just a millisecond too late.) Forcing his voice under control, to not breathe shakily (he’s seen men die before. he’s seen people die and heard them die and so _many_ have died. But this kind of sharp grief hasn’t welled up inside him since Lyle -)

“Rodney. Carson isn’t ...” He has to breathe. Lower his voice. Make him comprehend. “There was an explosion about thirteen hours ago.”

For a moment Rodney just frowns. Then.

_“What?!”_

“They tried to ...” A pause. He tries rewriting the sentence, not choke on it. He knows Rodney and Carson were the closest thing to best friends; they’ve worked together for years, supported each other through hardships, long before a journey to Atlantis was even realized. “They operated. But the burns were so bad, and finally his heart gave out. They tried everything.” Shoulders sagging. “They tried.”

The reaction following is a burst of energy, violent and vibrant, and Rodney nearly rips the IV out with the sudden movement. His voice rises. “Obviously they didn’t try everything, those fucking morons! Just, just let me -”

“Rodney...”

“- I have to go down there, maybe I still can - ”

**“Rodney!”**

He doesn’t mean to yell so sharply, with such fury. But - god. Twelve days. All the loneliness, the rage, the shock. All the grief. And now Carson is gone and everything bottled up within him is magnified, the core reaching dangerous density. His throat is raw with pain. “Rodney,” he says again, softer now, hands clenching, and he lets Rodney grasp his wrist as if that would change things, as if words would be erased by the touch. “Listen to me.” _You are not ascended anymore,_ he wants to say, the irony and relief so sick and twisted now. _You can’t heal anymore. You aren’t invincible anymore_. “It’s too late.” Pause. He is already exhausted, beyond tears. “I’m sorry.”

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry -_

He could say it a hundred thousand times. Nothing will change. (It wasn’t meant to be this way.)

* * *

“I tried,” Rodney says then, a flicker of a memory coming to mind - something that wasn’t wholly erased perhaps, or shoved aside because of the pain. “I ... That’s, that’s what I was trying to do. I remember, I felt Atlantis tremble ... an explosion ... there was a bomb. And someone - Carson - was in the way. I just ... I needed to ... Oh god. A stupid _bomb_ of all things, of all things ...”

“It wasn’t a bomb. Some kind of explosive tumour caused by a machine they found - Carson saved the guy’s life,” John murmurs. The doctors have done their tests now and confined the alpha to bed with a filled tray of food (but Rodney for once touches little of it and John nearly has to force-feed him), and orders not to move until morning. They had withdrawn quickly, understanding their need for privacy.

“Oh my god. Exploding _tumours?”_ And there is some hysteria in his tone when he adds, “I’m gone for a little while and the idiots manage to get into trouble at once! Where are the idiots who activated it?!”

And John sighs. “One of them didn’t make it.”

He doesn’t mention the names of those who found it. Rodney will know soon enough, and he’ll be a storm raging through the city; he’s pretty sure that Dr Watson, who survived, will lose his place here, or perhaps seek reassignment willingly. He doesn’t mention the three others that are dead. The funerals will be arranged soon enough. “Teyla was hit in the first blast by a piece of shrapnel. But her surgery went fine. She’ll recover. She’s OK.”

Rodney closes his eyes, shoulders sagging. “And you? Marie? Ronon?”

“They’re both fine. We weren’t near either of the explosions and there was no structural damage to the city in either case,” he quickly assures him. This is the third time he’s sworn to the alpha that he’s all right and unharmed and safe. That he’s hiding no new scars. “We were in the jumper bay when it happened.”

Rodney doesn’t say anything for awhile. He doesn’t need to. John can hear him anyway, imagine his thought processes; his eyes are shadowed. _If I’d acted sooner,_ he’s thinking, _if I’d known more. If I’d fought harder against the bonds ..._

* * *

It doesn’t matter he tells Rodney, over and over, that it wasn’t his fault. That there was nothing he could have done. Because it’s a lie. They both know it.

* * *

During the funeral they are quiet, both of them, like hallowed out wells. There’s a tremble to Rodney’s hands; come of sorrow, of guilt, of anger. The desolate noise of the hornpipes, in honour of the man’s heritage, just adds to the weight in John’s heart.

As they carry the casket through the wormhole, John and Lorne on one side and Rodney and Ronon on the other (Teyla would have helped if she could have, but she’s in no condition to lift anything. Yet she refuses to use crutches, standing proud and sad to watch the ceremony), Elizabeth’s speech yet echo in their ears. Rodney had said a few words, halting, heartfelt, hurting as the gate was dialled.

The medals on his dress blues felt cold and heavy against John’s chest.

* * *

Afterwards, they fall into a heap on the floor of their quarters. Rodney’s shaking, burying his face in John’s shoulder, half-way out his suit. They speak no words. There are none worth speaking.

None worth remembering, except maybe, _I’m here. I’m not going anywhere._

* * *

It’s midnight. He can’t sleep; Rodney’s snoring, and it is a comfort, this nearness, his scent, his warm heartbeats. It had taken hours to fall asleep, and he’ll probably wake soon again, fitful and uneasy. But John cannot close his eyes without dreaming so he pulls out his laptop, quietly settling on the small balcony adjoining their quarters so that the light from the screen won’t bother the sleeping occupants of the room.

The ocean is quiet. Like it too is murmuring in sorrow.

John isn’t sure if Carson ever heard the city sing at the back of his head like he does. If the waves upon the piers made a lullaby. He never - he’d never asked.

* * *

It ends up much like this:

_Dave,_

_I’m sorry about the abruptness of that email. Things ... things have been difficult as of late. We’ve lost_ (He pauses, breaths ragged. Has to stand up for a moment, pace across the balcony, back and forth, look across the railing. The sea is calm this night and the stars glimmering. The unmarred beauty of the world is taunting.) _We’ve lost an important person. He saved my life so many times, and the lives of my people. And we failed him. We never expected it to happen, like this. There was an explosion on base. It was meant to be safe_ (Safe. It was meant to be safe. Atlantis should be safe.)

_It’s difficult to_

(No, he cannot write that. Not yet. Perhaps never. Too many truths.)

Instead, syllable for syllable: _I hope we won’t intrude if we come visiting in five months. If you mind we won’t come. We needn’t._

He hesitates. Not sure if to include it. He spells it out;

 _It’s not really official yet, but we’re expecting a second child. That’s why I requested leave. it’s not really planned, there was -- Some chaos there too, Rodney’s been missing for a while, they’d nearly started planning his funeral. I found out a while after he’d been gone. but he’s back now, whole and safe._ (But there is no telling how sound he is. How badly the last few shaky hours have shattered him.)

No. Too early. Too much. So he places the cursor over the last paragraph and presses the delete, typing instead:

_Hope you’re doing OK._

_John_

* * *

Over a week later, the reply comes:

_John,_

_I am sorry to hear that. I hope things will get better_ (Perhaps, John figures, the man had been about to write something about Hope you recover. And he’s touched, truly, he just don’t know how to respond. And Dave probably wouldn’t know how to answer either.)

 _Of course you may visit. I cannot promise how pleased our father will be, though. He is -- adamant. I have forwarded your reply. Perhaps he is more fond of your daughter than he is of you._ (Yeah, no kidding. But John cannot fault him for it either. There isn’t nearly two decades of disagreements between Patrick and Marie. There hopefully never will be.)

_Again, I’m sorry. You know how he is._

_He asked me to tell you that he would want to meet Dr McKay again. The last visit was abrupt and we may have started on the wrong foot. Well, he thinks Dr McKay is rather -- frank._ (There’s the understatement of the year.) _Why didn’t you tell me before that Dr McKay was missing? Or did it happen recently?_

_It rather bothers me to hear such vague things from you, now that we have begun talking again. I must admit I am pleasantly surprised we are still continuing corresponding. I suppose your line of work makes it difficult to be both truthful and easily contactable. You are so stubborn, John, that there are days I wonder when the condolences will come. Maybe this worries our father too. I know there is much anger between you, but he fears for you._

_It is good to know you are alive. Send my regards to Dr McKay._

_Dave_


End file.
